The Invisible G Poem, by gray0328, at My poetic side

Sometimes, in the middle of a

conversation, someone will wedge

a g where it doesn’t belong—

like planting a blade of grass

in the wrong crack of pavement.

Stronger becomes strong-ger, longer

becomes long-er-er. And I pause,

hold it like a stone in my mouth.

Do they not feel it? The syntax

pinching itself uncomfortable, the

extra syllable a stumbling toe

on language's clean hardwood floor?

I wonder if they think it’s clever—

a secret handshake only they know,

but every word said this way

feels like a snag, a bruise.

I don’t correct them anymore;

my silence is a softer place

than the sharp edge of grammar,

though every added g still grates.

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